


Chipping Away the Paint

by timeless_alice



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-05-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 10:31:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1645454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timeless_alice/pseuds/timeless_alice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winter Soldier sets out to find out who he was after the fall of SHIELD. With no handlers to return to, latent memories resurface and they're a bit harder to bear than he anticipated. With horrible nightmares and memories plaguing him, being followed by a cat seems to be the least horrible thing that's happening to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chipping Away the Paint

The Soldier knew when to sleep on a mission. Catch an hour or two when one can, before setting out again, on the longer missions. It was easy, being able to pinpoint optimal times for it. It was mechanical, he would sleep, wake up, and continue on. He did not take joy in the activity, and he never dreamed. It was simply a necessity to keep him running while on a mission.

It was no different after he had rescued the man from the river, deliberately failing his mission. Despite having no handlers to return to, despite having no proper objective, he set out to gather intel. Intel on the man Captain America seems to think he is, James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky. It really did not take long for exhaustion to start prickling in his brain, soon after he obtained a sling for his damaged flesh arm. Every little ache in his body came into acute focus as adrenaline tapered away.

It struck him as unwise to attempt to find one of the safe houses he knew existed in the area, at least for the time being. He had failed the mission, he knew what awaited him, So he sought out something hidden away where he could rest before setting out once again. The Soldier stuck to the shadows as the day folded into night, wishing to avoid any unwanted attention in his current less-than-prime state. There was a small sense of relief in the back of his mind that the streets seemed to be mostly deserted, thanks in part to the earlier chaos of the day.

By the time he found a vacant building suitable for his needs, without a person in sight, the need for sleep made every injury even more pronounced. His shoulder burned, each breath caused pain to shoot through his chest (bruised ribs, not broken, he’d noted earlier). Part of him, small and desperate, suggested finding a nearby safe house. Get medical attention, forget everything, fall back into some sort of normalcy.

 _Hell no_ , a thought, a voice unfamiliar to him even though it sounded _right_ , stamped out the thought to return.

The Soldier shook his head and slipped into the building. He did a quick survey, acting on instinct as he explored the ground floor, looking for any squatters who’d found shelter there. It was strangely vacant, and that was all right with him.

He settled into a small room away from the building’s entrance, back against the wall, body facing the door. There was hardly a chance anyone could find him, but there was still a possibility Hydra was looking for their lost asset and he would not be caught lying down or with his back turned.

He adjusted his sling, unable to help a slight wince, so it does not shift and further damage his arm, and then allowed himself to slip into sleep.

*

He dreamt of agony and snow. He was lying on the ground, staring into a pure white sky, a cliff face at the edge of his vision. Pain screamed through him, from torn ligaments and snapped bones and what had to have been frostbite. There was a taste of blood in his mouth, like he’d screamed until his throat was raw and bloody.

He could hear a train speeding away; the rattling of its wheels against the track and the chugging of its engine fading into the distance.

There was a falling sensation, like the ground beneath him gave out, but all the pain is gone, replaced by the feeling of freefall. His arm cracked against an unseen rock -- everything is white why is it all white -- but he didn’t feel anything, he was just falling. The wind whistled in his ear and he swore there was a voice calling out to him but he couldn’t truly make out anything but the wind.

Again, he was lying on the ground. There was no moment of impact, he was simply there. The train was gone, leaving him with just his ragged breathing and the wind and christ the pain that struck him like a tsunami. He was there for what felt like hours, even though by some logic he should have fallen unconscious long ago. By the same logic, he should be dead.

Then there are footsteps. He tried to move his dead but he couldn’t: couldn’t move, couldn’t make a sound. They were speaking, low and guttural and he couldn’t make out a single word they said even as they approached. They surrounded him, tall and shadowy and faceless, speaking to each other or to him or to whom he didn’t know-- one was suddenly grabbing him, pinning him to the ground, as another ventured to his left side, a blade in its hand. He wanted to scream, and maybe he was but he wasn’t making any noise, and the creature rose the blade...

*

The soldier snapped awake, a shout on his tongue that he just barely managed to swallow and a powerful churning in his stomach. Phantom pain shot up his left arm, with what seemed to be foggy, long forgotten memories mixed with the dream dancing behind his eyes as he tried to push them away. That wasn’t supposed to happen, what in God’s name was that?

He ran his metal hand over his face, taking deep breaths, calming his nerves. He was fine, he was going to be fine. Focus on the task at hand, anything else could wait. But the dream was so vivid, and it had felt so real-- no. That was not to be dealt with now.

When his nerves were still enough that he did not feel like sudden movement were going to cause him to vomit, he opened his eyes. He gave the room a quick scan, falling back into what was familiar. It was still empty, but now a small white cat had made an appearance, sitting atop a piece of scaffolding that had ended up on the floor, staring intently at him with narrowed green eyes.

“Shoo,” he said as he got to his feet. She did not move, just flicked her tail, stubborn in the way all cats were. After a moment, she meowed at him, a sound like someone stepping on gravel.

He shook his head, walking out of the room without further acknowledgement of the creature. She was a cat, and there were more important things to think about. (Would it be safe to return to this block, and would the risk be worth it? How was he going to get money, get food?)

The cat watched him leave.

**Author's Note:**

> Gosh this was supposed to be a quick gift for a friend, based on a silly headcanon I made up with the help of several other people. It got a bit out of control, so I guess I'm breaking it up into several chapters, just so I can keep it all straight in my head. This might even touch on some of my other headcanons, as I try to bridge movie verse and comic verse!
> 
> I feel like it's worth noting this was written while listening to Dancing Queen on loop (with a lot of other songs, but mostly Dancing Queen) and I honestly have no idea how to write dreams.
> 
> Titles and tags to be edited as time goes on.
> 
> This is getting a bit nonsensical I'm sorry it's late.
> 
> Comments would be much loved c:


End file.
